


And it must follow, as the night the day

by frangipani_flowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Stanford, Sam Winchester-centric, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 12:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani_flowers/pseuds/frangipani_flowers
Summary: It felt like he was tied in knots, sometimes.





	And it must follow, as the night the day

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this a while ago and have been looking at it dubiously ever since, but I've eventually got my act together and beaten it into something I'm not unhappy with. Make of this what you will.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so if you spot anything that needs fixing, please tell me!
> 
> Title is from _Hamlet_ , (from a father to his son, which seemed sadly ironic):  
>  _"This above all: to thine own self be true,_  
>  And it must follow, as the night the day,  
> Thou canst not then be false to any man." 

When they were young they were close. Whatever they did they were together, and even when Dean wanted Sam to shut up or when Sam wished a reluctant Dean would play with him, they never felt it too onerous to bend back to the other. Whatever was between them kept them close and comfortable, settling into each others’ presence without urging. 

 

Sam sometimes wonders if this was because they just didn’t understand the force of the duty and responsibility they had to one another, or whether it just didn’t seem like a problem. Sam was young though; he remembers knowing he needed to be good for Dean, loving him and wanting to look after him as Dean did him and not much else.  He doesn’t know about Dean’s side and doesn’t ask, because his brother is sensitive about this sort of thing and he doubts he’d endure Sam quizzing him about how he felt about their childhood. Dean’s not as introspective as Sam, anyway.

It was as if they fell out of sync as they grew older.  The routines they had fallen into chafed more, and Dean could sympathise with Sam sometimes but he couldn't empathise. Just another disconnect just waiting to turn into a fight. 

As Sam had grown, John had pushed harder, demanded more. Sam pushed back, not quite as hard but with growing force, and Dean. .. he was right there with Dad, caught up in the haze of blacktop and bar women and adrenaline, where Sam couldn't be. 

Where he didn't want to be. 

It felt like he was tied in knots, sometimes. 

They were all caught in it- a tangled red spiderweb made up of a lifetime of love and duty and devotion, strands straining against each other to hold them all motionless and suspended.

Sam would lie under greyed hotel sheets after yet another argument or hunt that might have ended in disaster and close his eyes, and see it so clearly.

They couldn't pull away, and they couldn't let go either - not without breaking the mesh that clung under their skin. But Sam was beginning to realise that this desire, this  _ need _ he had for a life more permanent than 100 bucks for a shitty room for a week, was his alone. His dad didn't see a world beyond hunting.  Even the pretence of ‘after we kill the thing that killed your mother’ was long since abandoned. John didn’t hope for a future where he didn’t direct his kids like soldiers. Dean didn't lie awake wishing for people to stay in their lives for years and months instead of days, or for a normal life with friends and school and maybe a dog, if they were lucky. 

It was ‘a fuckin’ awesome life, Sammy,’ as Dean slumped back against him motel mattress out into the Impala’s driving seat, and why would anyone want anything else? And Sam, who wanted anything,  _ anything _ , else (though not without Dean, not that, never that) would look away and would feel more helpless than he could ever explain. Not that there was anyone there who could understand.  
  
  


Eternally suspended. The parts of himself that clung to Dean and John and the self-preservation that urged him to run. 

High school, teachers, friends and their parents. Worksheets, library books and biro ink. Or the road, hunters and the (rarely) families of hunters. Bars, victims, more library books and blood.  Another suspension.

His family, or his freedom.

The end of high school is starting to feel like reality.  Even Sam, with his few friends kept at a distance by the always-present reality of his life, is aware of the anticipation of the herd. The dread of exams looming on the horizon, applications, the hope of success; the excitement of graduation, and the heady whisper of college beyond that. He tests how it feels. The future.

His teachers tell him he can do it.

Sam bends over his books again, and tries to believe in it for the first time. 

  
  


And so it begins. After he thinks about it that first time, it becomes a secret, a hidden betrayal of his family that only grows as he dwells on it. Each time he stretches out to the thought, like tasting a sharp-flavoured fruit. It’s acidic on his tongue, but he can’t quite let go of it. He’d never considered a future before - one outside the world he lives in. He isn’t even really considering it now, it feels so insubstantial. But he keeps poking at it.

He sends off his college applications, and gives his postal address as Sioux Falls.

Maybe as a knee-jerk response to the insane thought of this bid for freedom, Sam seems to string himself into the web more firmly in protest. He latches on to Dean more - does his homework in the same room, spends less time with friends. Less time outside the family. He feels his dad’s absences more, which is weird, since he doesn’t stop arguing with John, or even do it less often. How he feels about his dad is just weird generally. Resent and admiration and love and bitterness, all dragged into each other and in constant conflict. The need for his approval - their approval, really. Because Sam’s feelings about John are conflicted on a bone-deep level, but the only thing that is different with Dean is that there’s more of the positive. He’s still something other, even though sometimes Sam wishes that he could just burrow into his brother and lose himself in the immediacy of him.

Maybe that’s because when Sam and his dad fight, Dean doesn’t get involved. He cajoles Sam afterwards, the carrot to John’s stick.   If he thinks Sam has a point, he might put it to John later - he’s heard him do it, shy-gruff and too tentative for his man-to-man tone. Sam loves him for it, but it’s like ash every time John gets annoyed at the insubordination and Dean submits and backs off. He belongs to their dad, but he’s still close enough that, when he asks with his eyes and words for Sam to give in, has always listens.  They’re all knotted close, but the reality is just that Dean is tied too tightly to John to ever be able to really take Sam’s side in an actual argument.

The reality is, he loves his family. It’s confused and tangled and sometimes unhappy, but he loves them. The other fact of that reality, though, is that he doesn’t always  _ like _ them. Sam wishes that there might be some way they can have that love without it choking at least one of them. Maybe things will settle when he’s older. It’s his birthday soon, marking seventeen and a half years on the road. He’ll be an adult. Able to make his own choices. Somewhere inside he knows it’s an empty promise to himself; after all, it’s never made a difference before. One last, desperate hope, though.

He’s been accepted. He’s going to stretch away, and hope that they can all live with it. He doesn’t let himself think about what will happen if they can’t. If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen, and nothing he can do now will change that.

Sam gets on with his homework. It’s something to do.  
  


-

 

Sam turns eighteen. Dean buys them a six-pack and ribs him about his love life, pretends to give him the sex talk. John slaps him on the back, and announces that they’re moving on the next day. Sam protests, and John repeats that they’re leaving and that’s final. Be ready to head out in the morning. He heads off to the nearest bar. Sam emails in his acceptance.

Nothing else happens.   
  


-

 

When it happens, it’s two weeks later, in a one-star motel in Oklahoma. Sam doesn’t know what he’d expected - this is basically like any other dump they’ve stayed in - but it almost feels anticlimactic.

Not inappropriate, though, especially as it’s the day after a hunt and John’s already ordering them on the road again.

He chooses his moment. Sam’s waited months for this moment, years if you count the time before he knew what he was waiting  _ for _ , and he’s dreaded it as much as he hungered for what this can mean for his life. Years of fear and upheaval and monsters in the dark, of gunmetal and injuries and helpless longing for a normal life. And how hard he’s worked to get here, when he hardly dared think it too loudly in case it was snatched away, because of who he was. All his hopes and fears and  _ waiting _ and then suddenly it’s rising up through him and out of his mouth in a rush.

“I’m going to college. Stanford gave me a full ride.”

It’s his move, his final desperate gambit to save himself from being swallowed alive, a brutal necessity that they can’t see or understand and his dad’s face is hardening as he turns to glare at Sam, and his brother’s a mask of shock.

The moment hangs there, in heavy coils. It rests for a moment of silence. Then it strikes, like a snake. He knows then that this is going to be a big one. John is more furious that Sam has ever seen him, and Dean… 

Dean’s standing there between them. But his face is giving Sam nothing. There’s no understanding there, not even a trace of the shock that flashed across his face before. He’s angry and maybe a little desperate at the thought of Sam walking out, and even though John and Sam aren’t leaving much leeway for him to talk Sam knows that’s how he sees this. He’s next to John. 

Dean won’t come with him. 

 

-

 

The fight is a long one. 

Sam and his dad have argued before, but this is different. It’s as if, through all the times they’ve been on different sides, they’ve only been collecting ammunition, stocking up on rage and frustration, on things that they can’t understand or can’t put up with. In the end, John’s always been able to trump the arguments; his way or the highway, and Sam’s always given in and made the best of things and never quite shook off his leash. After all, where would he have gone, anyway? 

But now he has something to fight  _ for _ , a hope of something better. John can’t stop him now, and he knows it, but he keeps going anyway, needling at Sam and trying to get him to back down like every other time. And so Sam keeps going, because he refuses to be the bad guy to his father and brother because he has the  _ gall _ to want more for himself.

He wants to loosen his strings, and  _ he’s going to do it _ .

“What, to stay here in shitty motel after shitty motel, waiting for one of the things we’re chasing after to gank us instead? Why would  _ anyone _ want to be part of this life?”

“Oh, and just let kids die and monsters do what they like because you’re a whiny brat? We stay together, and we do our job-”

“Why  _ should  _ it be our job? Why don’t we get to have more than this when everyone else can? You don’t give a fuck! You act like a fucking drill sergeant-

“You shut your mouth, boy-”

“-instead of acting like a fucking  _ dad _ -”

“I am your fucking dad, you ungrateful-”

“ _ I’m going to California _ .”

“ _ Then you are not part of this family _ .”

Sam feels the words draw out. 

He’s separate and not, just for an instant. Then, on its heels:

“If you walk out of that door, you’re not coming back.”

  
  


There’s a frozen moment that lasts forever in Sam’s head. And in that instant he can see his choices stretching out before him like blacktop in front of the Impala, unspooling like one of Dad’s ancient cassette tapes. 

He could lower his eyes and turn his head and huff out his frustrated energy, stand there until John accepts his surrender, grabs his keys and heads out to whatever dive bar would be open in this town in the middle of the day. Dean won’t want to talk about it and after such a big clash (so big a loss of ground) Sam won’t even notice the smaller one. He’ll stay, and stay, and eventually there’ll be nothing left to chase outside of the life and nothing left of  _ him _ , and whether it’ll end angrily or hopelessly it won’t matter any more. 

Or he can turn, and walk out. And who knows what will happen then, but it won’t be here and it won’t be Jack and dental floss stitches and shotguns and endless motels and nightmares. Or his dad. Or Dean. His family is a knife in his chest, because he doesn’t want to lose them (and isn’t that how these ties are, why they can never escape) and he never wanted to live without Dean but it turns out that he  _ does _ , he  _ can _ , because he wants to live and that’s the only way he will. 

And it all turns on this, this choice that isn’t a choice. 

And fuck his dad for making him choose, anyway, for trying to make him stay like this. Like he’s a deserting soldier instead of his son, like he’s ungrateful, like he’s betraying his family…

Sam stares back at John, both angry and breathing heavily as they stare each other down. Dean is glaring too, furious and frantic and the moment stretches out taut between them.   
  
Sam nods curtly.

 

“If that’s what you want.”

  
  


The snapping strands of web come as a shock, a sudden sharp dissonance as the world breaks and tries to re-form around him.

Now the suspension’s gone. Sam’s in free-fall now, a vehicle accelerating wildly down a highway, something without brakes or limits or anything to stop him.   
  
  


He turns and grabs his stuff from the bed that would have been his, but he’s not staying. He can’t. He’s made his choice.

_ I’ve made my bed _ , he thinks, manically, as the reality starts to sink in. He’s going to head for to the Greyhound station on the edge of town. He can sleep there if he needs to, until the next bus out. The plans he made as they passed it on the way the previous day feel real now in a way they hadn’t before.

“Fine.” John’s tone is sharp and bitter, shaking with anger. His boots thump and the door slams, and he’s gone in a roar of engine noise. One down. A tremor runs through Sam’s hands as he closes his duffel. 

He grits his teeth and turns to face his brother.

  
  


It’s worse than he’d expected. The ache in his chest is worse, the non-existent knife twisting now. The guilt of seeing the echo of Dean’s devastation still on his face even though he’s clearly making an effort not to let it show. The agonising thought that this might be the last time he sees Dean, that this might be all that is left, a few minutes in a motel room and nothing else. The numbing throb of his anger left along with John Winchester, and if his dad was Sam’s anger then Dean is everything else in him, the pain and the guilt and so much love it hurts.

He’s so tempted, close to hurling himself away and giving in, to holding up his hands and surrendering in a way that John and his anger never could have made him. But. Sam hauls himself back from the edge with a force of will he had never known he possessed. 

He can’t. His reasons haven’t changed, and he can’t do it to either of them, because even if Dean doesn’t realise it Sam staying won’t do anything but damage in the long run. One way or another he’s going to hurt his brother, and the thought is like poison in his veins.

So Sam bites back words and just  _ looks _ at his brother, and tries to ignore the plea in his eyes that Dean is too stubborn, too proud, too loyal to voice.

 

-

 

The silence lasts pretty much all the way to the Greyhound station. Dean refuses to let him him walk it, “because hey, it’s the least I can do to see you off, right? Baby’ll be thinking you don’t love her anymore, Sammy,” and at least some of Sam’s silence is because he’s been trying not to cry. Dean’s got his brave face on, and Sam’s grateful for it even as he feels a little bitter that his brother’s letting himself pretend that this isn’t a big deal. He does his best to hope that maybe Dean’s right, that this isn’t going to be the end of ‘Sam and Dean’ for good. To trust his big brother like he’s done all his life. It’s hard, when he throbs like he’s had something excised, like his nerve endings are torn and frayed, but he does his best.

They lean against the Impala in silence until Sam’s bus arrives. When he gets on, he drops his duffel on the seat next to him. It feels weird not to twist and dump it on the seat behind, almost as weird as the smell of unfamiliar laundry powder and stale air. Not to mention the tinny bounce of the radio as it plays some sort of chart pop - no Metallica here - and the unfamiliar burr of the engine. Sam looks up out of the window to where he can still see Dean leaning against the Impala’s hood across the parking lot. He holds up a hand in an almost-wave. Dean doesn’t wave back, just tilts his jaw up at him. Sam tries not to read anything into it.

The bus pulling away almost feels anti-climatic, the single figure and the only home he’s ever known left to shrink into the distance behind them. His world ending with a whimper after the bang of hours ago. He knows which hurt most.

Sam huddles deeper into his hoodie, and tells himself that if Dean could understand how he felt, then he’d forgive him. That he’d want him to go.

He can’t tell if it’s a lie or not.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The header of this while I was writing it was actually another section from the same speech
> 
> "The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail  
> And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing with thee!  
> And these few precepts in thy memory  
> See thou character..."
> 
> (If anyone wants to geek out over Shakespeare in the comments my nerdy self is already there)


End file.
